


Post Mortem

by frubeto



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frubeto/pseuds/frubeto
Summary: When they see each other again, it goes like this.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Post Mortem

“When they see each other again, it goes like this.

First. A passing face in the crowd. Maybe a trick of the mind. A fata morgana. The brain trying to parse the unknown into the known. Seeing what it wants to see. Finding patterns in the chaos.

Then. Fear, on Neal’s side. Even though he knows he hasn’t done anything the Suit could arrest him for. Even though he knows he doesn’t even have any jurisdiction here. It’s innate. Pure instinct. Old habits. He stops anyway. People flowing around him in their hurry to get somewhere, his own hurry to get somewhere forgotten, or reevaluated in its priority. Its place taken by the scene in front of him. A man. A woman. A child. Lunch at the  _bistro_ .

It’s surreal, after all this time. Jarring, to have two lives that were parted for good come crashing back together again. He’d been prepared for Mozzie to find him – though maybe not for the black eye he received when he did – but Peter, here, at _chez Marcelle,_ is, while not entirely unexpected, a lot to take in. People know him here. The new him. The  _current_ him. He knows Marcelle and her husband. (Of course he does.) He stops by sometimes. It’s right on the way to his flat. (Peter knows that.)

And yet he keeps staring, torn between crying and running over in a heartwrenching slowmotion to fall into their arms if they’ll let him, and simply disappearing, which would by far be the more reasonable option. He takes a careful look around. It’s a busy day, and it would be so, so easy to slip away if Peter so much as blinked.

But Peter is stuck in a similar state, like he hasn’t actually expected to find him, not like this, not casually strolling down the street as if they’re meeting up for coffee to discuss the latest case. He’s glad to see him, of course. Glad that is wasn’t just wishful thinking that brought him to his conclusions. Glad to see him alive. Living. But one can tell that beneath that, he’s fuming. He always is when Neal doesn’t adhere to just one plan at a time, completely and blissfully unaware of the servant’s second master and the dangerous line they had to walk.

There’s a shared look of understanding as they take in each other’s frozen forms from across the street, through passing traffic both motorized and pedestrian.

Then Peter blinks.

Neal is gone.

A little while later, a note appears on their table.

*

There are things they could say. Whole conversations to be had. But with time they have come to know each other too well. Knowing the answers before the questions are asked, even if they won’t understand them.

It would be a seamless continuation of their cat and mouse, just another game to play, and they are both finally tired of those.

Peter sits down on the opposite side of the bench – maybe some of his lessons did rub off on him after all – and the horrenduous crime against fashion that is his hawaiian shirt almost makes it look unsuspicious. He sits, and licks his bright blue icecream that he knows is an affront to every one of Neal’s senses, and waites. Leaves him hanging. It’s a cheap trick. One that years of being a father have probably taught him. Stern and menacingly silent.  _You got anything to say for yourself?_ And eventually, unsurprisingly, Neal caves.

He doesn’t apologize. He did what he had to do, he says, and plans to leave it at that. But Peter’s  hums in response , in that tone of voice that everyone knows means he smells bullshit, and makes in incredibly hard to. It hurts, that even now, he still doesn’t understand. It used to drive Neal  up the walls when Peter wouldn’t stop pushing and prodding until every excruciating detail of his motivations was out in the open, like he couldn’t for the life of him put some things together himself.

It still does, but he is no longer chained to his good will, so he leans over the back of the bench, and instead of yelling at him like he would have before, like he nonetheless wants to, about the threat of the panthers, the way that being in his life puts everyone at risk; El, June, Peter, the baby –  _Neal,_ for heaven’s sake, he only glares. He’s done eyplaining himself, tired of trying to make him see that there’s reason to what he does.

“Don’t come here again,” he tells him.

Waits for the sidelong glance to confirm he’s serious. Then turns back and flips his newspaper.

Peter doesn’t leave.

“Mozzie disappeared a couple of months ago, I assume he’s here?”

Neal stays silent. He can hear the accusation, of course. The unasked questions. The jealousy. But this is different. He didn’t have anything to do with the panthers. Neal made sure of that. But Neal also knows that Peter can put together two and two and 23 million dollar of missing unmarked cash, so it’s a moot point, and he decides against arguing it.

“Never thought I’d miss him of all people.”

Neal sighs.

“Peter-”

He turns back to look at him again, eyes wide but resolute.

“I can’t go back to that life.”

Peter shakes his head like he’s surprised at the turn of conversation. Like he isn’t aware what he’s doing.

  
“I’m not asking you to.”

“No. No, you never are.”

And yet he always finds himself saying yes. Peter probably doesn’t even notice how much just being around him again is affecting him. Changing him. And this time he really can’t afford to. Cutting all ties means cutting all ties. There is no place for Peter Burke in this life. It would throw everything out of balance. And he likes it here. Likes what he has here. Who he is here. Likes not having to constantly look over his shoulder whatever he does. He can find new friends. Already has. Who cares if they will never know him as well as them. He still has Moz. He’ll always have Moz.

“It’s good to see you,” Peter tries.

And he realizes he needs to get away before the reasons and the promises and the why don’t you come over for dinner can start, and whatever else he has prepared to throw at him. And as much as it might pain him, he finally finds the strength to say the words he never could.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

He gets up. Drops his paper. Hesitates with his back turned halfway, gaze on the cobblestone. Two fundamentally different people at a crossroads.

“Tell El I love her.”

“Tell her yourself,” Peter shoots back, the last resort of a desperate man, and Neal closes his eyes and sets his jaw. He knows she’ll be sitting nearby, with the kid, probably hoping she had one of Mozzie’s gadgets with her. But the thought of facing her, in all her gentle fury – he can’t. (Nobody can.) He shakes his head.

“It’s over, Peter,” he whispers.

“It’s finally all over.

“Let me have this.”

And then he leaves, and forces himself not to look back.

In the distance, a short bald man sweeps up the remnants of a broken glass bottle.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://frubeto.tumblr.com).


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